


night terrors

by cygnes



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnes/pseuds/cygnes
Summary: Jenny got invited into the house; Charley didn’t get the memo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://manzanas-amargas.tumblr.com/post/152619545805/fic-night-terrors) on my tumblr.
> 
> When I first saw the _Fright Night_ remake in 2011, I did a lot of spitballing with [smilefortyeight](http://smilefortyeight.tumblr.com/) about an AU where a lot of the characters are a different gender, but I never really did anything with the idea. And recently, watching the original 1985 _Fright Night_ with [Skazka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/pseuds/skazka), I was struck by the fact that Jerry had been invited into the Brewsters’ house, and wondered how that might have played out in the remake. So this is kind of a combination of those things (and also very unpleasant porn).
> 
> Warning for graphic sexual assault as well as mentions of abduction and murder. While Charley is of legal age in Nevada (which is a topic of discussion in the fic), the age of consent varies by state (and by country), so this may constitute underage, depending on where you are.

It feels like a nightmare, except it isn’t. Even the pain has the far-off quality of a dream. The bruises might be painted on in watercolor. Charley thinks she could rub them off, if she tried hard enough, but she can’t get past the ache under her fingers and the sick feeling rising under her ribs.

To set the scene: between two and three in the morning. Charley’s room, with indie movie posters papering over the walls where photos of her and Edie used to hang. (A lot of Charley’s dreams start out feeling like reality.) At the foot of her bed, there is a deeper shadow, human-shaped. The only sound of breathing is her own.

Charley has read about sleep paralysis. It could be that, except it isn’t. 

“Good try keeping me out,” Jenny’s voice says. “Really, A for effort. But your mom had already said I could stop by any time.”

“Why—” Charley starts. (If she can talk, if she can move, it’s not sleep paralysis.) It’s the beginning of a thousand questions. _Why did you play along?_ first and foremost, but also _Why are you here?_ and _Why haven’t you killed me already?_

Jenny infers the first possibility.

“Because I wanted to see what you’d do.” She moves around the bed to sit down, perching by Charley’s hip. “This isn’t what she meant by _any time_ , but it’s not like you’re going to tell her.” There is a glint of a smile (of teeth) in the scant light from the streetlights outside. “Right, buddy?” Charley tries to roll off the bed, away from Jenny, but a hand catches her wrist as she moves. She succeeds only in wrenching her own arm painfully. (This is another indication that she is awake: her shoulder still aches when she drives a stake through Jenny’s heart, and that is days later.) 

“Don’t want to get your mom any more involved than she already is,” Jenny says. “Maybe I’ll even leave her alone.” She puts her other hand over Charley’s sternum and applies just enough pressure that lying back down is an unspoken order rather than a suggestion. “And I do mean _alone_. What picture do you think she’ll put on the ‘missing’ posters? You ready to be the face on the milk carton?” Jenny lets her go but leans over her, looming. “If they even bother. You’re old enough that most people will assume you ran away. Barely even a minor anymore.” 

Charley is grateful that the lights are off. She can see enough that her heart is pounding. Any more and she might have a heart attack. Even now, if ( _when_ ) Jenny bites her, she’ll bleed out fast. 

Jenny pushes the comforter down to her waist. Her hand finds the hem of Charley’s t-shirt. “You’re enough of an adult for _some_ things.” Charley crosses her arms over her chest. ( _Like a corpse_ , she thinks later; at the time, it’s just self-protection.) “Legally.”

“If you leave them alone, I’ll go with you. I’ll do what you want.” Charley isn’t sure what Jenny wants. If this is a power play, or an object lesson, or—something else. 

“I know you will,” Jenny says. “You’ll do what I want either way.” She slides a hand under Charley’s t-shirt, palm flat against her stomach. Vampires don’t generally disembowel their victims. The thought isn’t very comforting. “You’re self-centered, you know that? It’s not _all_ about you.” She slides her hand higher: under Charley’s crossed arms, between her breasts. “Just some of it.” 

Charley shudders. This is where fight or flight should make her do something more, but she’s already tried flight and that didn’t work out. She doesn’t stand a chance in a fight against something as old and hungry and cruel as Jenny. (Not when she's as unprepared and unarmed as she is now.) So she just—doesn’t. She wonders if this is what it was like for Edie, too, and cringes from the thought. 

“You’re seventeen, right?” Jenny says. “Your mom was saying, when we talked.”

“Yeah,” Charley says. 

“Not old enough to vote or drink or smoke, but old enough to drive. Old enough to fuck or be fucked.” Jenny shifts on the bed, presses down on Charley’s chest for leverage as she settles herself between Charley’s legs. Charley fights the panicked urge to try to inhale deeply. Cracked ribs aren’t going to help her, no matter what. “It’s so arbitrary.” Her hand withdraws. Charley doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief, but she does breathe. She _can_ breathe. So that’s something. 

“What do you want?” Charley says. It’s a stupid fucking question: Jenny’s the shark from _Jaws_. She’s a hunter. And she has Charley underneath her, belly up, vulnerable parts exposed. (What she doesn’t know now, but will more than understand by the time Martine Vincent tells her tomorrow, is that some predators like to play with their food.)

Jenny doesn’t say anything, but she pushes the comforter down further, past Charley’s hips, and then braces her arms against the mattress on either side of Charley’s waist. She kicks the comforter down to the foot of the bed. There are a few inches of space between their bodies, and then there aren’t any. 

“Look into my eyes, Charley,” Jenny says. “This doesn’t have to be hard.” Charley squeezes her eyes shut. It’s the tiniest rebellion, the only one she thinks won’t get anyone else hurt. “Suit yourself, kiddo,” Jenny says, and then Charley does open her eyes, because she’s moving down the bed. It’s still difficult to see clearly, but the way she’s moving, it’s not—it’s not right. It’s like a spider or something. Her joints are all at wrong angles. 

This quickly becomes only the second most disturbing thing happening. Jenny pulls down Charley’s pajama pants and underwear, and Charley kicks out on instinct. Jenny takes hold of one knee and squeezes. Charley has to cover her mouth with one hand to keep from crying out. (Better to keep quiet. Better to keep mom away from this, so she still has some kind of chance.)

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jenny says. “Or this is going to get messy. There might even be collateral damage.” Charley nods. But when Jenny lowers herself to settle between Charley’s legs, lowers her mouth to the juncture of her thighs, Charley can’t keep still or silent. 

“Don’t,” Charley says, curling in on herself as much as she can. Her voice cracks. “Please.” 

“Are you saying you want to do this the hard way?” Jenny says. Again: the glint of teeth. “You should be more worried about my mouth _here_.” She turns her head to press her open mouth to Charley’s thigh. It’s too harsh to be called a kiss. “Femoral artery. The blood flow’s much more reliable.” She speaks against the skin there, but Charley hears her loud and clear. She settles back. Jenny’s hands come up to grip her hips. No more moving, even if she wants to: message received. 

Charley crosses her arms over her chest again and tries not to think about what’s happening. But she can’t keep her mind completely off it. She thinks about Andy, how she’d wanted to do this with him, but it never seemed like the right time. One of them was always tired, or busy (or, okay, worried about inadequacy in the face of his several ex-girlfriends’ worth of experience). And now the first person to put their mouth on Charley that way isn’t even really a _person_ , it’s a goddamn _vampire_. 

She thinks she’d like it, if it was Andy. Her body is responding now in ways she doesn’t want it to, but she isn’t enjoying the experience. (Strangely cool lips, a sinuous tongue, the occasional brief slide of _teeth_. No, no, _no_.) When Jenny presses two fingers into her, she’s wet but not ready for it. She knows what that’s supposed to feel like. Charley hasn’t had sex with anyone else before, but she sure as hell has masturbated. 

“Wait,” she says. “Just a—”

Jenny pulls back just to snarl at her. “You would have been married by seventeen,” she says. “You would have earned your keep.” Her fingers delve deeper. 

“What the fuck?” Charley says, soft and bewildered enough that Jenny doesn’t take it for a challenge. 

“That boyfriend of yours seems like a real gentleman,” Jenny says, regaining some of her composure. “Bet he hasn’t made you put your money where your mouth is, no matter how he’s panting for it.” Her mouth is glistening, and not with blood. “Of course, he has other options.” She removes her fingers only to press them back in. Three, this time, and more than Charley has ever tried, even on nights when she thinks she could take it. (Nights she thinks she _should_ try, so that sex with Andy won’t be an embarrassing disaster, when it eventually happens.) 

Charley does cry out this time, somewhere between a yell and a sob. Then she goes very still. She listens, terrified. The house is still silent. She takes heaving, gasping breaths. Relief, or shock, or both. 

“Does he know about you and Edie?” Jenny says. “Or was that strictly one-sided?” The hand between Charley’s legs is moving steadily, unhurriedly. “Either way, you never got this far. I can _tell_ you never got this far.” (Things with Edie had gotten complicated, and the fact that they never talked about it was part of why it was so easy to push her away. They hadn’t even kissed. And the only way Jenny would know about it is if Edie told her somehow—begged for Charley’s life, or cried out for her in her last moments. God, isn’t that a thought.)

Charley doesn’t cry, but she brings her hands up to cover her face. Jenny’s hand keeps working at her. It doesn’t hurt as much, but it doesn’t feel good; not even on the most basic physical level that she had resented earlier. And then Jenny leans back down, puts her mouth back on Charley, and it’s—

Well, it’s terrible, but that doesn’t keep her from coming.

Jenny crawls back up the length of her body and pries Charley’s hands away from her face. She idly palms one of Charley’s breasts through her t-shirt.

“I’d take you back to my place,” Jenny says, “but I was about to head out. Let’s take a rain check.” She pats Charley on the cheek hard enough that it’s almost a slap. 

And then she’s gone. 

She’s gone, and Charley feels disoriented and wrung-out (like waking from a nightmare), but Doris is probably still next door and now Jenny _isn’t_. Charley may not be a fearless vampire killer, but she’s not a fucking coward. She sheds what’s left of her pajamas and doesn’t look at the floor where they fall. She dresses in the black clothes she set aside a few hours ago and pockets the screwdriver, the bobby pin. She sticks to the goddamn plan.


End file.
